Small Problem
by mrstserc
Summary: Pre-series. Sam is 16, Dean is 20. Left alone while John hunts, Dean takes Sam on a routine salt and burn, he thinks. Instead of things going smoothly, Dean manages to piss off a witch, who decides to teach him a lesson. Fortunately, she thinks he's a doll - a real doll! Sam must work with his father and help his brother. Dean must learn to let others help. Abuse issues.
1. Chapter 1

This cannot be happening. It – it just can't. It's beyond the weird their normal life contains. Sixteen year old Sam Winchester can feel the rising panic as his thoughts chase around looking for something logical to grab onto. Panic won't help, Sam knows that. Dean has drilled that into him ever since he was twelve and Dean starting letting him help on small jobs.

"What am I going to do?" Sam groans to himself, running his hands through his chestnut hair. "Okay, Sam. It'll be okay." He forces his thoughts to slow down, unwittingly channeling his older brother's usual words. "We can fix this."

When he gets his fear under control, Sam decides step one is getting his brother up and getting the hell out of this creepy old cemetery. Okay, that's two, but it's what needs to happen first. And before even the first thing, Sam has to hotwire the car or they aren't going anywhere.

Once they are in the car and Sam is driving them back to this month's cheap lodgings, he can think about what comes next. Or maybe Dean will wake up and be okay enough to help by then. Just – one step at a time. Like Dean taught him.

Driving, Sam finds is actually pretty soothing. He kind of gets why Dean likes it so much. It gives his hands and mind something to do, something to hold onto. "Keep it steady." Sam's channeling Dean again, remembering how his brother has been teaching him to drive in the past couple months since his sixteenth birthday. But thoughts of the twenty year old get Sam almost gasping for breath. Dad is going to be so pissed, and if Dean isn't able to intervene, Dad's going to unleash at Sam. He just knows it.

Sam wipes a stray tear from his cheek. "Stop it! We don't have time to worry about this. I'll get us to the motel and call Dad. Cause this. This is…." He fades off. It is inconceivable, his mind supplies.

. . . . . . . .

Dad had dumped them in a cabin that was about the size of a shed at the beginning of July and had taken off with some other hunters chasing a pack of spirit wolves in the badlands, and possibly a black dog driving the pack, since these were the larger gray wolves, not timber wolves, and wolves didn't venture this far out of the mountains usually.

Dean took a part-time job at a diner as a server to keep the boys fed, staying with Sam even though Sam knew that at twenty he probably would have wanted to go with the other hunters. Dean told Sam to act like any other snot nosed kid on summer vacation – sending him off to the pool and rec room when Dean was working. Sam appreciated it. He knew it was Dean's way of letting him be normal.

But as much as Dean loves Sam, Sam loves his older brother. And when Dean started getting restless, Sam looked over the information his brother was gathering about strange happenings near an abandoned cemetery two towns away, and the two boys thought they could handle a little salt and burn without their dad. Might have worked out fine if it really had been a restless spirit. Instead the brothers found themselves smack dab in the middle of a coven of witches.

Sam thinks they still might have gotten off scot-free if Dean would learn to stop openly antagonizing – well, just about everyone. It's like that's his brother's super-power, pissing off just about any one in no time flat.

"I don't know who you are boy – a hunter by the smell of you," the tall woman at the center of the circle had said. "But you need to stay out of our business. We have justice on our side. These people – they are getting back what they have dealt. You, boy, have no business being here or bringing this man-child with you."

Sam stammered out an apology and grabbed Dean's arm, trying to pull his brother away. They were outnumbered and unprepared. But would Dean just leave? No. He had to get lippy.

"Listen, Doll…" Dean started, but before he could say much else, Sam and Dean were both thrown up against the black rock of a cliff wall that stood at the end of the cemetery. Sam struggled, and watched Dean squirm against the force holding them in place. The woman came right up to them and they fell to the ground kneeling. She grabbed Dean's chin, forcing him to look up at her. She turned his head one way, then the other, studying him before she smirked.

"So young and so cocky." She jerks his head back further and studies his eyes. "You have a destiny that I cannot derail, but I think you need a lesson." The woman chuckles deeply. "I think you with your pretty, pretty eyes, lovely cheekbones, sweet freckles, and kissable lips look like a little doll. A tiny little strutting Ken doll pretending to be a G.I. Joe." She chucks him under his chin before releasing him and goes back to talk to her cohorts.

Sam's voice is still missing, but he manages to get his brother's attention. Dean can't move anything but his eyes, and Sam can tell his older brother is trying to reassure him. Sam wishes his brother understood that Sam isn't a little kid any more, and he is as worried about Dean as he is for himself. More, because he didn't piss off the scary witch.

The group started chanting, and Dean went stiff, falling over on his side. Sam watched as Dean's mouth opened in a silent scream before he went lax. Then Sam gasped and struggled harder as right before his eyes, Dean started to shrink, and shrink, until he lay there still – about the size of a fashion doll. Sam's restraints fall away and he crawls over to his brother, tears streaming from his eyes. When he turns around to confront the witches, he sees they are gone. It is just him and Dean.

Sam very gently eases his brother's tiny form into his hand, relieved that he can feel Dean's chest rising and falling. Dean's heart beats quickly like a bird's. Sam cradles his brother carefully as he carries him to the Impala, dumping the weapons on the back floorboard before shoving a towel inside before laying his brother inside and placing it on the front floorboard. Those chores done, Sam starts to panic again. How on earth is he going to explain this to his dad? How is Dean going to take it when he wakes up?

. . . . . . .

"Dad?" Sam has reached the cabin, placed the bag with his brother in it on the bed, and gathered change to go use the payphone near the office. "Dad, please. I need you to come back right away. Something happened to Dean. He alive, but…" The teenager's voice breaks and he struggles. "Dad I don't even have a phone to call you back. Please. Please, just come."

Hanging up, Sam makes his way back to the cabin. He carefully closes the door and sits on the bed next to the bag where Dean is still unconscious. Sam worries because he knows he should be checking pupil reaction and other symptoms of concussion, but Dean's so little and he could be injured so easily. He's tired, but he's afraid to go to sleep. What if Dean were to wake up? He moves the duffel with his brother onto his lap as he stretches out on the bed. All he knows to do now is wait and pray that his dad will be there soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Weak morning light is filtering through the beige curtains of the cabin when Sam jerks awake to the feeling of something squirming around on his belly. He must have slumped down during the night, trying to stay awake and wait up for his dad but failing. It takes a moment for his memories to catch up with him, and he recalls what is in the duffel. With a deep breath, he gets out from underneath it and opens it carefully.

"AAAAAAAAAAAA." Dean is staring up at Sam's face peering into the bag and screaming at what must be the top of his lungs. Sam jerks away when Dean pulls out his .45 caliber handgun and aims at him, still screaming. The gun makes popping sounds, but Sam isn't hit. He stands back a little more from the bed, and watches little holes punching through the sides of the bag.

"Dean?" Sam is trying to keep his voice steady and calm. "Hey, Dean. You're okay. It's me, Sammy. Those witches last night, remember them? They cast a spell and shrunk you. But you're safe now. Just don't shoot me, okay?" Sam moves closer. "I'm coming over again."

"Dean? Did you hear me?" Sam moves to sit on the bed by the bag, and the mattress tilts a little under his weight. Sam bites his lip as he watches his brother lose his balance, falling heavily against the towel-padded bottom.

Finally, Sam hears Dean's voice, a bit muffled by the bag. "Sammy?"

"Yeah, Dean. It's me. We're back at the cabin. You've been out of it all night."

"You didn't call dad, did you?" It's hard to be sure without seeing his facial expression, but Sam thinks Dean sounds more afraid than before.

"I called him last night. Still waiting for him to show." Sam doesn't try to hide the doubt in his voice. He edges closer to the bag carefully and peeks over the edge again. His brother is sitting on the bottom with his knees up and his elbows resting on them. His head is being held in both hands which means he must have put the gun away.

Sam watches as Dean shakes his head. "He'll call. He won't come."

It's Sam's turn to shrug. "You have the cell phone in your pocket, Dean. Do you think it's still going to work?" He keeps his voice low. Dean reaches in his pocket, pulls out the phone and tries it before cussing and throwing it against the olive green canvas wall.

"So I think after the message I left, Dad'll be here as soon as he can make it because he won't be able to call." Sam is even more sure this morning that he did the right thing. "Dean, do you want to come out of the bag? I can either lift you up, or lay it on its side. Which do you want?" Sam is half afraid of hurting Dean if he has to lift him, so his question is kind of shaky.

The witch was kind of right. At twelve inches tall, his brother looks like a delicate doll, not a GI Joe. He can hear his brother inhale.

"I guess I need a lift into the bathroom, little brother. I need to piss so bad my teeth are floating – and I can't think this way. Let's try you putting your hand down and me grabbing on." Even when he's pocket-sized, Sam feels better because he can talk to Dean. He can also hear that his big brother has switched from panic mode into problem solving.

Sam lowers his hand gently and tries to keep it rigid as his brother climbs on and tries to find something secure to hold onto. Finally Dean rolls onto his stomach and throws his arms around Sam's wrist. Sam can feels Dean's heart like a flutter against his skin.

"Go, go, go." Dean says, ducking his face under his shoulder, so he doesn't have to look.

Sam straighten up and walks carefully across the room. "Where do you want me to put you down?"

Dean answers in a moan. "Sink."

Sam places his hand in the sink and waits while his brother climbs off. Dean glances up at Sam, and Sam sees that panic is still there in his eyes. Dean's just trying to hide it well. Dean braces himself on the faucet and widens his stance as he reaches one handed for his zipper. "You are not going to stand there and perv at me, Sammy. Go away."

"Dean, are you planning to piss in the sink?" Sam's features are screwing up in disgust.

"Yes, little brother, I am. I'll aim it down the drain." He looks up, and Sam can see the mischievous glint in his eye. "Won't be the first sink I ever pissed in, bro." The grin that follows that pronouncement looks a little forced. "Go get breakfast and bring it back here. Let 'em know I won't be in today for the lunch shift, okay?"

"Dean, how am I supposed to get breakfast? You have all the money." This is one of the problems Sam mulled over as he was trying to stay awake last night. The phone, the wallet, the keys – all in Dean's pockets and shrunken into uselessness.

Dean pauses a minute, and looks up, trying to radiate assurance to his kid brother. "It'll be okay, Sam. We're paid up 'til Friday for the room – that's four more days. And I stashed some money in the outside pocket of my duffel. Besides think how much money we're going to save in meals. I'll just nibble at yours. In the meantime, don't forget to get me a cup of coffee, 'kay? Sammy. We'll make this work somehow until we can fix it. Now – give a guy some privacy, please."

Sam backs out reluctantly, but he is relieved that Dean has already solved one problem, so he gives a half grin as he snarks, "One small coffee coming up."

"Very funny." Sam hears his brother respond before he leaves the room.

"It's a little funny, Dean."

. . . . . . .

After Sam leaves him in the bathroom, forgetting to shut the door Dean notices, Dean very carefully takes care of his business before climbing out of the basin onto the small countertop. He edges his way behind the faucet over to the mirror, peering in it at his own green eyes, too wide right now with fear. He thinks about pinching himself, but he's already sure this isn't a dream. It's the nightmare called his life.

"I frikkin hate witches," Dean tells his reflection. Dean starts thinking about what they are going to have to do to find this coven again, and get them to reverse the spell. He admits to himself that Sam was right to call dad. They're going to need him. Dean's pretty useless in this land of giants. His mind scuttles away from the idea that dad already thinks he's useless.

Speaking of useless, Dean realizes that he's stuck here on the sink until his brother comes back, unless he can figure out some way to get down. He carefully lowers himself to a sitting position, dangling his legs into the basin as he considers his options. The three foot drop to the floor is about the equivalent of jumping out a three-story window, so that's out. He could carefully lower himself onto the back of the toilet, but the lid is open and he's worried he'll fall in. The towel rack might be close enough to jump. Maybe if he caught the towel, he could use it to cushion his fall.

Right as he's getting up to put his plan in effect, a cockroach crawls out from the crack above the sink basin and wriggles it antennae at him. Cockroaches are a fact of life in cheap motels, and they like dark, damp spaces in bathrooms, so it's certainly not the first Dean has ever seen. But with Dean being about a sixteenth of his normal size, the flat dark oval-shaped insect is a lot more intimidating.

Dean stomps his foot at the bug, but it moves closer. He backs away from it carefully, judging his distance from the towel rack. He is so focused on the cockroach that he didn't hear his brother come back inside until whamp! Sam smacks his shoe onto the roach. Dean startles and loses his footing, falling backwards from the sinktop.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam lunges for Dean, catching him, but not before Dean hits his head on the edge of the toilet bowl. "Dean!" He yells as his brother cries out in pain. Blood drips on the seat from a gash, staining Dean's dark blond hair.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Sam is practically chanting as he cradles his brother, grabbing the towel and carrying him over to the table. He spreads the towel one-handed and sets his brother on it. "Lie down on your stomach, Dean. I need to look at this." Sam rummages in his duffel, bringing out the first aid kit.

Dean groans, rolls onto his stomach, then gets his knees under him and starts retching. That movement makes his head swim, and he groans more in misery before he falls unconscious. Sam's crying and his hands are trembling as he gently moves his brother into a prone position. He uses medical preps to wipe away blood so he can get a good look at the gash on his brother's head.

"How the hell am I supposed to stitch this? C'mon, Dean. Don't leave me here on my own. I need my big brother." The teenager snuffles and uses the back of his hand to wipe his face. "Okay. Think, Sam. What would Dean do?"

Sam walks into the bathroom, cleans up the roach and blood spatter, and runs the water as hot as he can stand it, scrubbing them with soap. He takes a clean washcloth and wets it. Then he gathers the last clean towel before he hurries back to his brother. Dean is still out cold, but groans when Sam goes to move him and change the towel under him. Then because Dean has blood and vomit all over him, Sam tries to remove his shirt.

There's a reason Barbie clothes are made with few fasteners – and Sam learns that quickly. He gives up for a moment, Stops to think. Then he takes out the surgical scissors and cuts off Dean's shirt and tee shirt. He bundles them and tosses them into the trash. That figured, Sam rewashes his hands and sets to work cleaning his brother's head, gently washing it and wiping it with the antibacterial cloth.

It is still bleeding, so Sam holds the edges together carefully and applies liquid bandage and a small square of medical gauze. Then he takes more gauze and cuts a strip lengthwise before using it to wrap around Dean's head. That done, Sam sits back and breaths a minute. He gathers up his supplies and moves them off the table.

"Dean?" Sam calls gently as he uses the wash cloth to clean away the rest of the blood and vomit on his brother. His brother makes a pained whine and shivers, but he's starting to come around. Sam shuffles through his bag, finding his last clean white tee shirt. He folds it carefully and lays it over his brother like a blanket.

Without much more he can do right now, Sam pulls the takeout container over and starts eating his almost cold breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast. He sets aside portions for his brother, wondering when Dean will wake up again. Sam has thought about what his brother will need, and sets a bottle cap of water near Dean's food. As he's finishing up the last of his breakfast, Dean starts to stir.

"Sit up carefully, Dean. You were knocked out." Sam pitches his voice low and soft, trying to sound comforting.

Dean sits up, spins around, and moans. He holds his head and stares blearily at his brother. "I was hoping this was a nightmare." Then he reaches down and tries to pull the tee shirt up around his shoulders. "Dude, where's my shirt? I'm half naked here.""

Sam shrugs. "It was covered with blood and vomit. I had to cut it off to patch you up."

Biting his bottom lip and looking worried, Dean grunts. "You know it's not like I got something else to put on, Sam. You think maybe we could have tried washing it?"

"You're welcome for saving your life, Jerk." Sam huffs at his brother whose super power is obviously still intact.

Dean scowls at him. "Whatever." He lifts the bottle cap and takes a small sip of water. Waits to see if it'll stay down. Takes another. "How long was I out?"

"'Bout ten minutes. I used adhesive on your head. Couldn't stitch it. Dude, you've got to be more careful. Not only are you pretty breakable right now, you're hard to patch up." Sam's eyes suddenly well with tears he hadn't even realized he was holding back. "You could have died!" Sam snuffles.

"Relax, Sammy. I'm not dead yet. We'll find a way to fix this." Dean picks up the corner of toast with both hands and takes a bite. "God, I feel like I haven't eaten for a week." He says through a mouthful of food.

Sam smiles - seems like some things about his brother haven't changed. "You better be careful or you'll end up puking again."

"Uh, yeah, about that. Thanks for scaring the crap out of me."

Sam snorts. "You're welcome for me saving you from the big, bad roach." Sam pictures what he saw before his brother fell – the standoff between Dean Frikkin Winchester and an insect, and he giggles. Sam can't help it. Before it got scary, it was hilarious.

Dean glares at him. "I had it under control, Dude." He huffs as he picks up the little chunk of bacon and gnaws at it.

"Keep telling yourself that," Sam giggles more.

Sam knows he has to keep his brother awake because of the concussion, and keep both of them occupied while they wait for their Dad. There's no television in the cabin, and for obvious reasons they can't go to the community room, so Sam decides he'll work on the summer reading list he made for himself.

Sam'll be studying American literature his junior year, so he's chosen to read Thoreau, Emerson, Hawthorne, and Poe this summer. He figures Poe is his best bet to keep his brother interested. What Sam didn't expect was that Dean could recite long passages word-for-word, with dramatic emphasis. With Sam sitting at the table, and Dean sitting on the table still wrapped in the tee shirt, they take turns on passages of "The Raven."

The brothers are in the middle of "The Tell-Tale Heart" when they hear John and someone else at the cabin door. Both brothers inhale, and Sam closes his book and straightens up, like a soldier coming to attention, when John bursts into the room helping Bobby Singer over to a bed. Dean, though, he huddles further into the shirt, trying to become invisible.

John's barking orders as he comes in. "Sam, get the first aid kit and get over here. Bobby's hurt. Where's your worthless brother. I don't see him in bed, so he can't be so bad off that you needed to call me away from the hunt. I swear if he took off on a bender I'm going to have that boy's hide leaving you alone."

Sam brings the first aid kit, but he's so upset by what his dad just said about Dean, and by knowing his brother heard it, that he's struck dumb. With shaky hands, he helps Bobby out of his torn shirt so he and his father can clean, stitch, and bandage the claw marks across the older hunter's ribs.

Bobby is watching the younger Winchester brother carefully, and he sees the anger and grief in the set of the boy's mouth. "Sam, will you go out to the truck and get my bag? I need a clean shirt." When Sam agrees and lopes out of the cabin, Bobby turns his gaze on John.

"You haven't given the boy a chance to tell you what's wrong or why he called you, John." The gruff older man lightly chastises the other hunter.

John's hands where he was straightening out the first aid kit and putting things away grow still. He shakes his head. "I thought for sure Dean'd be here in the bed, Bobby, but he isn't and I'm afraid - really afraid – of what Sam's going to say." John's gruff voice goes even deeper, but it's barely above a whisper. "What if I've lost my boy?"

Shaking out a couple of pills from prescription pain medicine, John gives them to Bobby. He sees a water bottle on the table and goes to grab it. When he sees Dean sitting there, John shrieks. Dean backs up further and ducks into the shirt more, and Sam runs back into the cabin, slamming the door and practically throwing Bobby's bag to him.

"Dad! Dad! Stop yelling!" Sam yells at John, moving between his father and his brother. "You're going to hurt his ears."

Bobby Pulls a shirt over his head and moves up next to John, trying to see what the problem is. John's face has gone from ruddy to pale, and he is holding his hand over his mouth, eyes bugging out. Bobby turns a searching gaze over to where John is still staring, but all he sees is a table with a food container, a book, and an old shirt wadded up.

"Dean, you better come on out." Sam's using his low calming voice again, now that his dad is done. He almost wants to giggle, but realizes that hysterics won't help anything right now. Still he'll file the sound of dad shrieking like a little girl away to consider later.

Dean straightens up to the whole twelve inches he has been shrunk, still clasping the tee shirt together like a cape with one hand. His eyes are huge and his skin is pale under the gauze bandage wrapped around his head like a turban. "Umm, hey, dad, Bobby." He stammers, and then hangs his head. Clearing his throat, he tries again. "Sorry we had to call…"


	4. Chapter 4

Once the older men got over the initial shock, John, Sam, and Bobby sat drinking coffee around the table where Dean is standing, trying to retain his dignity while sipping coffee from his bottle lid. Sam and Dean explained what had happened with the witch, and as hunters, they all understood the next step will be to try to get her to undo the spell – or kill her which generally will negate any spell a witch has cast.

"Damn stupid, Dean. Going in without knowing what you're up against. I thought I taught you better than that." His father barks at him, and Dean nervously agrees. The middle Winchester looks like a war refugee – or a toy model of a war refugee – bandaged head and wearing a tee shirt as a cloak. He's pale and bruised, and as John is studying Dean – all twelve inches of him – the father sees something that surprises him. Dean looks delicate with his long neck and fine features.

John has this idea in his head that his older son is tall and stocky, a rock, but with Dean standing in only his jeans, John thinks he could count his ribs. John wonders when that happened. He looks younger than John expects too, and the father's heart twinges at how long he has thought of his son as an adult.

Sam is looking at his brother too. "Huh." He mutters, half to himself. "You seem taller in real life."

"I am taller in real life." Dean huffs at his brother, brows lowering into a scowl. "And you're not funny in real life, Sammy." Between knowing his father is disappointed in him, feeling sick from his head injury, and stupid for letting the witch get the drop on him, Dean has enough problems without his brother trying to be funny.

The younger brother is still staring. "No. I mean this is like looking at you through the looking glass, Dean. You usually seem so big – even though I'm almost as tall as you now. I guess I mean, this version of you helps put things in perspective."

"I AM taller than you, Bitch." Dean says, trying to straighten up more, but losing his hold on Sam's shirt he's been wearing as a cloak. "And I'm always going to be your big brother, so put that in your perspective before I put your nose in perspective."

Sam chuckles. "Bring it shorty, besides I'm growing again. I bet I'm going to be taller than you, like dad is." Dean stomps toward his brother, who uses his index finger to flick him on his leg. Dean stumbles and falls holding his leg and biting off a moan.

"Boys. This isn't helping." Bobby speaks up as he takes a clean blue bandana out of his pocket and drapes it over Dean's shoulders. "But I see what you both mean. Boytoy there usually has enough layers on that he looks more like a lumberjack than a fashion doll." Bobby winces. "It complicates things though. I mean, he ain't going to be any help in this hunt, and I need a few days to recuperate. I'm pretty banged up besides the pigskin patch job. I ain't getting any younger, ya know."

Bobby runs his hand over his freshly stitched side. "I got an idea, but you might not like it." He looks over at John who has a far-away look in his eyes, still staring at his older son. "John?"

"Hmmm?" John snaps out of his reverie. "He looks so much like Mary." He mutters, and all three of the others freeze. John never talks about his dead wife. Sam waits, breathless, he treasures every little hint ever dropped about the mother he doesn't remember. "Her eyes had those same long lashes."

Dean puffs up in his sitting position, and then he purposely cuts off his father's musing. Dean doesn't want the others to see how much it affects him, and with them staring like he's an interesting centerpiece in the middle of the table, he's pretty sure they wouldn't miss it. "First of all – all three of you are staring, and that's just rude. Second, you're letting this size thing go to your head. And third – third, well I haven't thought of what that is yet, but stop staring at me. We need to figure this out and get me back to normal." It's John's turn to snort. He turns to Bobby and asks what he was about to say.

"I need to recuperate. We need to keep Dean there safe until we find a way to reverse this, and you and Sam need to be able to hunt without worrying about me and him. So, I know a place less than five hours away where we might be able to do that – instead of back at my house. 'Cause I ain't up to keeping the Indian in the Cupboard there from getting into more trouble."

"I can look after myself." Dean shouts.

"Dude, you were getting chased off the counter by a roach." Sam states, as though that was some kind of explanation.

"Shut up, boys." John snaps at them. He's pretty sure he knows where Bobby wants to take Dean, but he's not sure he wants his son to go. John knows Bobby has been told at least one side of the story. He knows his sons probably don't even remember the one visit they had there. "She blames me, you know. No telling if she'll agree to help my son."

Bobby slurps some coffee and nods his head in understanding. "But she'll do it for me. We go way back – and we've helped each other out more times than either one of us can count." Bobby waits, drinking his coffee, giving John time to adjust to the idea. "She's got a little girl, you know. Might be able to help us in the amenities for a doll thing."

"Hey, right here. Not a doll." Dean snipes, but his head hurts, he's in pain, and he's getting blurry even with the coffee. He looks miserable and the jeans he has on are crusty with blood and vomit still. Boots too, he notices and unlaces them to tug them off.

John turns back to Bobby. "It's what? Four-five hours from here?"

"Bout that." Bobby agrees.

"Well, why don't you go get a few hours rest while I try to help Dean get a little more presentable. He's gonna have enough to overcome there without making a bad first impression." Bobby agrees and stretches out on one of the beds, pain medicine kicking in quickly and letting him doze off despite the coffee.

The Winchester patriarch turns toward his sons. "I'm going to drive into town to pick up a few things. Sam, I'm going to need you to help your brother get washed up. Get the dish basin and fill it with warm water. Slice off some soap. Dean can get a bath. Need to wash those jeans, too. Plus, I need you to keep an eye on him. He's still concussed, probably in pain too. Aren't you, Dean."

From his slumped over position, a sleepy-voiced Dean mutters. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, you look it." John huffs out in disbelief. "Strip to your skivvies and give your brother the pants." Dean doesn't say anything, but he doesn't move either, and John is startled. Dean usually is much better at obeying orders. "Dean, do what I tell you," John orders.

"Dean, it's okay, we won't look." Sam jumps in running interference and wondering if this is how his brother feels every time he tries to disperse the tension between him and their dad. Dean never defies his dad over something so simple.

John uses a finger to nudge Dean, inadvertently hitting his leg where his brother had flicked him earlier. Dean tries to bite back his groan, unsuccessfully. John growls. "Take 'em off, or I'll do it for you."

Dean shuffles around and empties his pockets, tiny keys, wallet, knives, gun, lighter forming a small pile next to his boots. He grunts in pain as he undoes his belt and tugs it off. Then he looks up to see if they are going to turn away. His father makes an impatient growling sound, so Dean stands up shakily and unbuttons his jeans. As he lowers them, both Sam and John gasp.

There's a large purple contusion where Sam had playfully flicked Dean earlier taking up a large portion of his thigh and continuing under his boxers, and the younger boy starts to moan. "Oh, damn, oh, Dean. I didn't mean to. Dad…I never would have…"

John looks grim. "That's enough, Sam." He tugs the pants away from his older son's tiny hands, but he does it gently, only now realizing how fragile Dean's current form is. "Go get your brother a piece of ice for that before it swells worse."

When Sam runs out of the room to go to the ice machine near the community room, John turns back to Dean. "Exactly how dumb are you planning to get on me?" The father demands, but he doesn't give Dean time to answer. "Do we hide injuries? Do you think we're going to be able to keep you alive if you try to hide them from us?"

"No, sir." Dean's head is bowed, and in only his underwear Dean's trembling is obvious. John backs away and wipes his mouth, stretches his neck trying to relieve some tension. He grumbles and stomps into the bathroom heading for the sink, dirty jeans in his hands. Looking back over his shoulder he barks out another order. "Sit down before you fall down and break something."

Sam comes back in with a piece of ice which he wraps in a napkin. Dean is reclining on Sam's wadded up shirt, bad leg stretched out. He has Bobby's bandana wrapped around his top half. Sam gently sets the ice on his brother, looking at him mournfully. John comes in and sets the jeans down to dry on the towel. He uses a washcloth to wipe Dean's boots before telling his sons to stay put, watch out for each other and Bobby, but he'd be right back after a quick run into town.

After John leaves, Dean can't stand the whipped puppy look in his brother's eyes one more second. "It's not your fault, Sam. You didn't know – hell, I didn't know that this could happen." Dean starts, but Sam waves him off.

"I should've been more careful, Dean. I am sorry, but mostly I'm determined to make sure you're okay until you're better." The younger brother gently lifts Dean to straighten out the shirts, and places him gently back on it, covering him with the bandana. "If you want to sleep, I'll wake you every couple hours. You can trust me, you know. I've got the watch."

Dean knows the kind of heart break his brother is trying to hide. "I trust you, Sammy. You and me – we've always got each other's back."


	5. Chapter 5

Carrying a plastic bag from a retail outlet and a paper sack of burgers, John gets back to the cabin in less than two hours. He enters quietly, knowing Bobby is probably still sleeping to find that Dean is the only one awake. With his floppy-haired little brother sleeping with his head on the table, Dean is leaning on him scratching him on the temple. The picture it makes almost brings a smile to John's face; Dean with a bandana wrapped like a toga in a gauze turban reaching through long strands of russet colored hair to soothe his brother like one might pet a puppy.

John sets the bags on top of the dresser, tossing his keys next to them. "You baby him too much." Their father says it matter-of-factly. This is a discussion they've had before and the one area where Dean has always refused to obey John's orders. "He's supposed to be keeping watch. What could you do if something happened?"

"Wake him up." Dean shrugs, his answer has a ring of truth, so John drops the subject. "It's just as well he's sleeping. I need to talk to you before you go with Bobby…"

"I'm not going anywhere!" Dean stops leaning on Sam and limps closer to his father. "I need to be here to get changed back."

"You don't get a say in this." There's a dangerous glint in John's eyes as he moves closer to Dean, but he is still keeping his voice down. "You aren't in any shape to hunt right now. Hell, you're useless for research even. You'd be a distraction and something that needs constant care. And you brought it on yourself with stupid, reckless behavior. Well, I don't have time to coddle you, and I need your brother's full attention focused on the hunt. You're going with Bobby when he gets up. Try not to be too much trouble. And keep your mouth shut."

Dean rocks a little, like the words hit him with physical force. "I'm not useless." He starts to defend himself, but then he stops.

"That's right, Dean. Can't even think how you'll be helpful, can you? Hell, you can't feed yourself…you can't even get to the bathroom without help." John roughly unwraps a set of Ken doll clothes, a short sleeved top and elastic-waist sweat pants. "Get dressed."

Across the room, Bobby clears his throat. He overheard John, and knows there's truth in what he said. He just wishes John didn't feel the need to cut Dean's spirit down, especially when the boy's already facing problems. Bobby decides to play it like he didn't hear the conversation. "What time is it?" He asks sleepily, sitting up with a groan.

"Bout time for you to wake up." John answers. "How you feeling?"

Bobby takes stock, he tries stretching, but winces from the pain. "Like something a dog mauled. Course it was a wolf, not a dog, but you get the point."

Sam too stirs, jerking his head up and wiping his mouth where the drool has been pooling. "Dad! You're back!" He looks around and spots Dean wearing a red short-sleeve shirt with a Velcro fastener in the front and blue sweat pants too big in the waist, but fitting snugly through the butt. When Dean sees his brother's stare, he ducks his head. "Dean, why'd you let me fall asleep?"

John snorts. "Lucky for you it was me who came through that door. You were supposed to be keeping watch, instead I come back to tiny Tim there being the only one awake. What good do you think he'd of been if something other than me came in?"

"I know!" Sam grows agitated. "I was supposed to be watching over him! I'm sorry Dad."

Bobby groans as he gets up, and only part of it is physical pain. He knows that what Sam just said cut his brother to the bone. He needs to get around and get Dean out of here before any more damage is done, but he can't. John walks over to the table and scoops Dean up. Dean squeaks, and grabs onto his father's wrist. John carries him into the bathroom and barks, "Do your business."

Sam's watching and his mouth draws into a frown. "You know he's still a person, Dad, not some pest. You could have asked him before you grabbed him."

"I don't have time for niceties right now, Sam. Eat up. We've got work to do. I've got to get your brother ready to leave with Bobby." John's bustling around the room. He throws Dean's big people clothes in his duffel, and zips it before setting it by the door. Next he takes a soft-side cat carrier out of the store bag, ripping off tags. He bundles the things from Dean's pockets, his boots, socks, jeans, and bandana inside the case – then he snatches up a hamster water bottle before he storms back into the bathroom.

"You finished?" John demands. Dean who's standing on the counter now nods, and John fills the water bottle. "You're gonna need to stay hydrated. This seemed the best way without spilling things." John pretends he doesn't notice the tears filling his son's eyes as he picks him up and carries him to the cat carrier, pushing him through the door and fastening the water bottle before shutting and zipping the case.

"There. Whenever you're ready, Bobby, you can take off. This should keep him safe – it has slots to fit a seatbelt through." Bobby and Sam are both staring open mouthed at John. The oldest Winchester shrugs. "The sooner we all get going the sooner we can get Dean back to normal. I'm just trying to keep him safe."

"But Dad, I was going to take care of Dean," Sam argues, pulling himself up to his lanky almost six feet of teenage anger.

"Well, you pretty much proved you can't. Bobby's taking him to some friends in Nebraska while we look for the witch and her coven. And I need your help here, Sam. I need you one-hundred percent focused if you ever want your brother back to normal. Got that?"

Sam deflates. "Yes, sir." He shuffles in place a minute. Just let me get him some food and tell him goodbye?"

"Make it fast." John is gathering up Dean's duffel and heading to Bobby's truck. Bobby has been wolfing down his sandwich. He pauses long enough to pat Sam's shoulder. "I'll take good care of him, kid. You just do what you've gotta do to get him back."

"Thanks, Bobby." Sam waits until he walks out and crouches down to peer into the cat carrier. Dean's sitting with his back to the door and his head bowed. "Dean? Hey, man, I've got some burger for you. I'm gonna put it in this food thing here. Dean?"

His brother's reply is too muffled to make out, and Sam's pretty sure Dean is crying. His heart twinges in regret. "Are you okay? Are you hurting? Is there anything I can get to make you more comfortable, you know."

"No, Man. I'm good Sammy. You just – take care of yourself and Dad for me. Okay."

Dean still hasn't turned around, and Sam waits a moment before giving up. He straightens, but before he picks up the case he warns his brother and watches as Dean braces himself. "You okay, Dean?"

Dean chuckles dryly. "Yeah, Man, but it's like flying – all this being moved around. I, umm, not much for flying."

Sam nods, then realizes his brother didn't see him. "Yeah, I know that. Dean…" It comes out whinier than he wants. "Dean, tell me you'll be okay. That you won't do anything stupid. That you know that no matters what happens I still need you. Please, Dean."

Dean wipes his face in both hands and gets up, turning around and peering out the mesh of the carrier. His voice is gruff and a little watery. "Sam, don't worry about me. Just do what you got to do, okay?"

Sam won't let himself try. "Yeah, Man. You know it."

His brother gives him a crooked smile. "That's my boy."


	6. Chapter 6

Mount Moriah cemetery in Deadwood, South Dakota, is more famous with its celebrity graves like Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane, paved roads, and visitor's center, but it is also hallowed ground. The Winchester boys had stumbled further north into the Black Hills to a more obscure cemetery at the base of one of the dark cliffs. It's the kind of cemetery where they buried suicides, drunks, and prostitutes back in the days of the Wild West. John waited impatiently for Sam to get out of the car and show him where the coven of witches had been meeting when they cast the size spell on Dean.

It was taking Sam time because he had the newspaper reports, notes, and interview reports the boys had made when they began investigating strange occurrences connected to the cemetery spread all over his lap. His dad had insisted he go over every bit of it, and Sam was glad to. He still hadn't found something that pointed to witchcraft instead of a vengeful spirit.

"So, Dad, do you think the witches were conjuring the spirit? 'Cause we really did research it. And when you come here at night, down those dirt roads to this side of the hills, it's too dark to see ahead." Sam rambles on, trying to confront his father without getting too confrontational. Sam would rather be yelling at John for beating Dean up so much about being stupid – but he's actually a little bit afraid when Dean isn't around to intervene if things get bad.

"Drop it, Sam" John growls as he moves to the trunk to choose with weapons and equipment to bring. In a short space John starts grumbling about nothing being where it belonged, and Sam flushes. He opens the rear door and gathers the items he dumped there last night to get the duffel and sheepishly carries them to the trunk.

"I needed the bag in a hurry last night," Sam tries to explain, but stops at the look his father gives him. "I know it was wrong, Dad, and I'm sorry. I just was so freaked out…" He glances up through his too long bangs to see his father studying him like a piece of jigsaw puzzle to be placed.

John sorts through the items Sam brought, and keeps most of them. The only difference Sam sees between what Dean packed and what John does are items specifically meant to subdue humans, rope and handcuffs. But then John roots through the trunk, into one of his private boxes the boys have been instructed to leave alone, and pulls out two mojo bags, sticking one in his pocket and handing Sam the other.

"These should deflect any spells sent our way, but they're expensive as Hell and once activated their power dwindles within a day. If you boys had had them with you last night, we wouldn't have this mess on our hands." John's statement seems to be laying blame on Dean, and storm clouds form in the teenager's hazel eyes.

"These mojo bags? The ones you just took out of one of your boxes we aren't supposed to go near? You think Dean would disobey your orders like that?" Sam narrows his eyes at his father, looking ready to fight.

With a loud sigh, John slams the trunk. "You get away with too much with your brother." John warns. "Don't even start with me. When you're on a job, you need to shut up and follow the leader. Do you think you can try to do that, Sam? Because I'm starting to think I need to take you more in hand for training. I'm thinking your brother has neglected a few of the basics."

. . . . . . . . . .

The Roadhouse looms up in the distance from out of nowhere like so many things do when driving through Nebraska. The highway there looks so deceptively flat that most people don't realize it is on an incline. Bobby's happy to see their destination. He's still in pain and his pain medicine wore off at least an hour ago. Dean is still concussed, so Bobby has had to keep checking to make sure he's okay, running through the standard questions to check for signs of confusion that would mean complications.

The problem has been that aside from answering those questions, Dean has been quiet as a mouse – bad analogy while the guy is shrunken, but it's appropriate. Bobby has been trying to get him to talk, to draw him into a conversation because he's worried about Dean's state of mind right now. But as far back as Bobby remembers, Dean has held his feelings close to his chest. Internalizes them. At twenty, it might already be a life-long habit.

"What did your Dad tell you about where we're going, Dean?" Bobby needs to know before he decides what he needs to tell the boy himself.

"That they will provide a place for you to recuperate and a safe place to store me." Dean doesn't even try to hold the bitterness back, so Bobby knows this is a raw nerve.

"He tell you anything else?" Bobby asks gruffly.

Dean's voice is pretty faint, but there's only the two of them, so Bobby hears him. "He told me to keep my mouth shut."

Bobby grunts. Figures John Winchester left it to him to let Dean know Ellen Harvelle blames John for her husband's death. And ain't that a hell of a thing to spring on the young hunter when he's already had a crappy day. "Yeah, well, guess I better warn you that Ellen and her daughter, Jo, lost someone on a hunt that your dad was on too. They might think your dad could have done more about getting him home safe."

"So this woman thinks Dad had something to do with her husband's death?" Dean clarifies.

"That sums it up pretty well." Bobby allows.

The older hunter hears some shuffling from the cat carrier. "Dad's sending me for help to someone holding a grudge?" Dean's disbelief is loud, even if his voice is almost too soft to be heard over the sounds of the tire on the road.

"Yeah, well. Ellen is a good person, Dean, and a friend of mine. She'll take us in and help, for me, not for your dad. And she ain't normally the type who'll hold something against you if it ain't your fault." Bobby pulls into the parking lot. "But maybe you should let me do the talking."

Ellen Harvelle greets Bobby at the door, but pulls back from the hug when she sees him favoring his side. Instead she grabs his duffel and animal carrying case out of his hand , dropping them onto the floor and leading him over to a chair even while he's struggling to grab his bag.

"Why Bobby Singer! What are you doing here? Why didn't you call? And since when did you start bringing pets on hunts?" Ellen's questions are punctuated by her getting the older hunter settled with glass in front of him and gathering a big first aid kit from behind the bar. It's not quite time for the small dinner crowd, so the Roadhouse is empty except for them.

"Damn, Woman!" Bobby growls in mocking displeasure. "Give a man a chance to get a word in edgewise." He takes a long drink of the soothing glass of ice tea she put in front of him – and he really doesn't remember her leaving long enough to get it, but that's Ellen. "Let's see. I need a place to recover for a few day…"

"Done!" Ellen exclaims. She's glad to help and happy for Bobby's company. "And I need somewhere for a young hunter friend I got with me to be kept safe until we can break a witch's spell."

"Also done!" Ellen says cheerfully. "Where is he? And what's his name?"

Bobby lifts his chin toward the bags, and Ellen gasps. "He got turned into a cat?"

"Not quite," Bobby scoffs.

"A dog?"

"Nope."

Ellen tilts her head thinking. Then she hurries towards the cat carrier she had plunked down without much care. She carries it carefully over to the table and unlatches the top to pull it open.

"Well, damn, Bobby! This is a new one on me!" Ellen can't keep her surprise from lifting her voice, and a slim blonde teenaged girl comes roaring into the tavern.

"What's up, Mom? What'cha got?" Jo Harvelle crowds up next to her mom, throwing Bobby a cheerful smile before her eyes grow as round as saucers as she takes in what's in the cat case. "Did someone bring a Ken doll to life?"


	7. Chapter 7

"Well, don't just stare. Ellen, Jo, this here's Dean. He's concussed, badly bruised, and, oh, yeah, shrunk down to doll size by a witch. We need a place to stay two-three days, Ellen. I need a bed and meals, and help keeping him alive until we can get the spell reversed. Don't be rude, Dean. Say hello." Bobby's pretend affability isn't convincing Ellen who is standing pretty much frozen in place.

"Hello, Ellen, Jo." Dean straightens up, standing shoulders back like his dad taught him, bow legs spread a little for balance and trying to use his best manners. "Pleased to meet you."

Ellen snorts and gives Bobby a dirty look before pointedly looking at her daughter. She moves a little closer to the cat carrier. "Dean? As in Dean Winchester?"

Dean glazes up at her, eyes wide as he realizes she's already figured out exactly who he is. "Yes, ma'am. I'm Dean Winchester."

"We've met before, Dean. You must have been nine or ten. Where's your little brother?"

Dean shrugs a little. "I'm sure we have met before, but right now everything's – well – I guess I'm still getting used to my new perspective. And Sam's with Dad." He's been standing with his head tilted back to see Ellen, and the position aggravates his concussion. He staggers with dizziness, and goes down on one knee, palm on the ground as though trying to still its spinning. "Umm, sorry." He's mumbling and trying to just stay still while things feel as though they are spinning around him.

Ellen's eyes take in his turban, and she gives a big sigh before she mumbles. "Well, I always was a sucker for pretty eyes." Ellen turns toward Jo, and she's not happy with what she sees. Her fifteen year old is looking at Dean like he's a prize she won in a lottery.

"JoAnna Beth, I need you to go dig into those boxes of old doll furniture and clothes to see if we can't find enough to make Dean more comfortable. Then I need you to wash everything really well and bring it back here." She waits a moment but Jo is still gawking. "Get going, Missy."

As Jo clears the room, Ellen turns back to the hunters. "Dean, you sit all the way down a minute and wait there. I'll be back to check to see what's going on under that bandage as soon as I get this old coot settled." She plunks two pain killers next to Bobby and tells him to swallow. Then she gather's the bags Bobby had with him. "C'mon Bobby, let's get you set and let me peek under your bandages. After that, you should grab a nap. I'll wake you in a couple hours for dinner."

As they walk away down a hallway, it occurs to Dean that he's alone and he's thirsty; he just couldn't bring himself to drink from the bottle his dad put in there like he was some kind of animal. Dean stands back up and limps over to the cold glass of water left of the table. He studies it like he does every other problem in his life – it's an obstacle not an ending. Dean decides to drag the napkin holder closer and knock it over, which will give about four more inches. He gets so involved with his plan that he doesn't notice the tabby until it's crouched in front of him, tail whipping back and forth.

Dean reaches for his gun, but then he realizes he's wearing the ill-fitting Ken doll sweats. Keeping his movement slow, he takes one step back edging toward the glass. The cat hisses. Dean lunges and knocks over the water glass which spills, splashing the cat who leaps down.

Dean rushes toward the carrier, thinking he could lock himself in, or at least get a weapon and go down fighting, but he slips in the spilled water, thudding down onto his already bruised leg.

"Cat food. I'm gonna die as kibble." Dean mutters. He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to watch, and then he's suddenly swept up and plunked somewhere dark.

"Scat, Lester." It's the voice of the young girl, Jo. Dean wriggles a little and sits up to peek out, realizing he is in the pocket of her black apron. Jo grabs a bar towel and mops up the table carefully so she doesn't bump him into things. "What were you doing?"

"Uh, I was thirsty, but then the cat…"

"Is there something wrong with the water bottle?"

Dean snorts. "Besides I'd rather dehydrate than drink like an animal?"

"I've got an idea." Jo moves over to the bar where she takes a shot glass and fills it with water. She looks around and finds a small plastic coffee stirrer. "Let's see if this'll work as a straw." Jo reaches into her pocket carefully, wraps her hand carefully around his waist and sets him on the bar.

Standing, Dean finds that while it's a little big, he can suck water through the straw. He empties the shot glass. "Thanks." He lifts an eyebrow at her and then blinks a few times. "Do you think we could try some whiskey this time?"

"Don't be getting my girl in trouble." Ellen's suddenly there beside her daughter frowning down at Dean.

"Sorry, ma'am." Dean gives her a crooked grin. "It's kind of my middle name."

"I'll just bet it is. She's fifteen."

"And I'm not exactly a threat today." Dean retorts.

Ellen turns to Jo. "So why'd you put him up on the bar? Don't you think we might have trouble explaining this if a civilian wandered in?"

"Guess I'd stick him back in my apron pocket. Besides, Mom, I thought Bobby'd get upset if we let Lester eat him." Jo's grin – almost – gets Dean to smile, but he's been this small since he woke up this morning, and his day has completely sucked. Being carried, in a pocket or not, ruffles his pride.

"Damn, cat." Ellen starts mumbling as she goes over to the table and gets the carrier which she brings over to the bar. "Climb in, kid. We've got bandaging to do and I've only got thirty minutes before the bar open."

As she closes the carrier behind him, Ellen turns to her daughter. "Did you get the stuff?"

"Yeah, it's on my bed."

The mom snorts. "You wish, Jo. I'm taking him into my room where I've got medical supplies laid out. Can you do two more things before I get you to cover this bar for a bit? Get the snake pit and make sure it's clean and got its lid. Then you bring it and the doll items into my room. Can you handle it?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" Jo snaps out sassily.

There's that unsettling flying feeling again for Dean as Ellen carries him down the hallway to the living areas. Dean's glad no one can see him as he clings a little bit to the inside of the case. Next there's a slight whump as the bag gets set down on something hard before Ellen opens the door.

Dean limps out onto a desk, staring puzzled at the items.

"My husband was a fly fisherman. This was where he tied his own flies. I'm going to use it to check your head once we get that bandage off." Ellen's voice is matter-of-fact. She is doing her best not to hold what his father did against the boy.

But Ellen runs into a problem quickly. When Sam glued his wound closed this morning, he stuck gauze over it, and that's now glued onto Dean's head. "We're gonna need to soak it to try to get it off." Ellen tells Dean. "This basin has warm water in it. I need you to strip down and climb in laying back down with your head in the water so we can let it loosen."

Dean crosses his arms over his chest and gives her a scandalized look. Ellen almost chokes laughing. "Baby, you are too young for me for one. For another, I've seen plenty of naked hunters while I patched them up." She notices he just looks more stubborn. "Okay. Keep your underwear on then. Can we get this going? I've got a bar to run."

Dean strips off and scrambles to get in the basin, barely noticing she put her hand down to give him a step stool. He splashes into the water, but then doesn't seem to know where to put his hands to cover himself up. Ellen snorts before turning away to find the smallest possible needle and setting it in alcohol to sterilize. When she turns back, he is floating in the water with his eyes shut fast asleep.

As Jo starts to enter the room, Ellen holds her finger up letting her know to be quiet, and she is. On top of the dresser, Jo sets up a sixteen inch deep snake enclosure – empty and clean. Then she starts to get it ready.

Jo has an old carpet square she has cut to fit the bottom. After she gets it set in there, she starts setting out some furniture, beginning with a bed that she has improved with a foam mattress. Clean white handkerchiefs make up the bedding with a crocheted place mat for a spread. She sets up a café table with two chairs across from the bed, actually filling a small pitcher of water before setting it and a matching plastic cup on the table. Between them, Jo sets a modern looking couch and coffee table. She puts Dean's wallet, guns, knives, cell phone, and lighter on the coffee table, and his old and new doll clothes on what should be a vanity at the end of the bed.

Hoping he'll know what to use it for, Jo adds a small plastic bucket with a lid to the far corner.

"I didn't have much in the way of Ken stuff, Mom, but I've got these board shorts, another top, and a set of doctor scrubs." Jo's voice wakes Dean up and he startles. When he sees Jo and Ellen staring at him, he blushes a bright red that covers his face, the tops of his ears, and even part of his chest.

Ellen shakes her head. "That'll be enough gawking at him, Jo. Head out and try to bring back a tiny bit of food for him on one of your tiny plates. It's a wonder he could sleep with how loud his stomach was growling." She waits until Jo leaves to demand Dean sit up while she sets up the large magnifying glass on a stand her husband used to tie fishing flies. She uses nail scissors to snip off the soggy remains before putting in four tiny stitches and recovering it with much less gauze.

Dean sits patiently while she does this, and Ellen makes small talk. She also turns on a radio to a classic rock music station. Then she helps him get out of the basin, handing him the scrubs to put on after he dries off with a dry washcloth. She purposely turns her back to give him privacy. "Your bruises will get better if we make sure to let you soak for a while every day. Your head doesn't look too bad. Wish I could give you something for pain. Mostly, though, I'm gonna say that you need rest. Me, Jo, or Bobby will come check on you every couple of hours."

Ellen turns back around to find him dressed but wringing the water from his underwear over the basin. She plucks them from his hand, but hands him the board shorts and shirt. "Jo has a place all set up for you. It'll be safe from the cat." She holds her hand out palm up and he clambers on. "You'll be safe there and we'll bring you some food in a minute."

As she lowers him into the terrarium like enclosure, Ellen hears him muttering. "Sonofabitch."

The older woman laughs softly. "Don't worry. It won't bite you."

But Dean's stunned impression shows his doubt that the aggressively pink furniture wasn't out to get him.


	8. Chapter 8

It's dusty and hot enough to make him sweat as Sam follows John the unnamed cemetery where Dean had upset the head witch of a coven last night. The teen isn't quite sure what his father is looking for, and after getting snapped at when he first asked, he is trying to puzzle it out on his own. Sam wants to call John on it, tell him his idea of training it sucks, but he keeps pushing it down. "Whatever it takes to help Dean."

"Quit muttering, Sam." John snaps. "I'm trying to figure this out." The older hunter lifts his head to glare at his lanky son and catches the bitchface expression. "You knock that look off your face before I do."

That's a real threat, Sam knows as he tries to make his expression blank. While dad rarely hits him, he's seen Dad knock Dean on his ass more than once, and he knows some of those times were because Dean stepped in to deflect dad's anger away from him. Well, Sam can't wait to get away, but right now, Dean is more important.

"Sir, if you'd tell me what we're looking for maybe I could be more useful." Sam's being so careful to watch his words that he forgets to watch his feet and he stumbles, flailing a little before his father's firm grip on his arm stops him from face-planting.

"Sam, I was studying that rock formation you just kicked all to Hell." The exasperation in John's voice is evident, and Sam flushes red to the roots of his hair. He begins to stammer out an apology, only to have it cut off by John. "Apologies don't fix things, Boy. Just watch where you're putting your feet. I expect stupid stuff from Dean, I expect…."

That's it. Sam has had enough. He lets every fraction of his teenage rage fill him, and he pops his father in the jaw. "Stop saying shit like that about Dean!" Sam barely gets the words out before John, who was only slightly rocked by Sam's punch, slaps him open handed across the face, startling him with the pain.

"Boy, you're not old enough to start shit with me." John fumes.

Sam's holding his cheek, and his eyes water with the sting of the slap, but his dad just mad him too mad to hold back. "I'm too young to punch? I'm sixteen. I've seen you punch Dean plenty of times when he was sixteen, Hell, younger."

"That was training." John spits out the words, but he backs off a little, the truth of the accusation stinging him more that the slap is stinging his son. The two stand glaring at each other; John wondering how he let his family come to this. "And speaking of training, tell me what you noticed before you knocked down the altar."

Taking a brief breath to steady himself, and closing his eyes to picture it in his head, "Three flat rocks on the bottom, five slightly smaller kinda shaped oval rock, then a flat piece of the black rock found around here. Some branches on it, two, no three, but one is more like greenery. Something leather. A couple smaller rocks, umm, shells, something glittery." Sam is describing what he remembers.

"Good." John sounds pleased and Sam's eyes fly open in surprise. "But those smaller rocks? Think harder Sam – or better yet pick'em up. Those're shaped into totem figures. You need to see what kind. The leather – check to see what kind of hide that it's from. And then the branches – what kind of plant. You missed that there were mineral sprinklings too. See if you can find that they burned leaving the ash. We need to gather what we can and see if we can identify what exactly." John catches Sam's gaze. "Now you get to picking it all up so we can identify the parts while I try to figure out how these other folks got here. Cars? Walking? From which direction? I'll backtrack them, but I won't go far. Yell. If anyone shows up."

Sam hurries back to the Impala to pull out a paper bag to put the pieces in for analysis. He wants to be quick because he knows dad will expect him to be ready when he gets there, and he grows so engrossed in his task that he doesn't know anyone else is there until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"What!" Sam jumps up and spins around, at first thinking dad had snuck up on him. But before he can yell, he hears the woman speak a spell of some sort, like the other night, and he is frozen and cannot make a sound. She grabs his chin and it somehow brings him to his knees. The witch studies Sam's face, brushing gently across the red imprint of his father's hand.

"Who did this to you, young hunter?" She murmurs it so gently that tears swell in his eyes. At sixteen, Sam has never actually had much of a chance to be mothered, to have someone look at him with compassion and strength. She runs her hair gently over his head, pushing his hair out of his face and bending closer to look him directly in the eye. "So tell me this? Does the other young hunter, the doll, does he protect you from this?

The woman seems to read the answer in his eyes, and when an errant tear rolls down his cheek onto her thumb, she lifts it to her mouth to taste. "Another with a destiny." She says softly.

"Get your hands off my son!" John returns to the cemetery, drawing his pistol out and aiming at the witch. With her face turned away, John doesn't see her chanting, but he sees Sam's hazel eyes widen in fright and he decides to fire, only to find he cannot move.

The woman has not taken her eyes from Sam's face. "So, your father? And does he do this often? Ah, not to you, to my doll? Your big brother? And that cocky boy, he protects you?" She pets his hair again. "I would protect you from what is to come if I could."

Then she leans in to whisper. "It's a temporary spell on your big brother, little boy. You will have him back soon enough. Will you care for him until then – even against your father? I would not have given him this lesson in weakness if I had known he was trying to be strong enough for both of you." She seems to read Sam's promise in his eyes, and she caresses his hair one more time before turning toward John.

John watches as the witch approaches. She seems otherworldly, both older and younger than him, and she sways gently as she walks toward him. She has to reach up to grasp his chin, but whatever that spell is works because John falls to his knees in front of her. She takes the gun from his hand, looks at it with disgust, and begins to disassemble it, letting the pieces fall to the ground. When she finishes, she wipes the gun oil off her hands into her flowing skirt.

Her chocolate brown eyes unfocus as she stares deeply into John's. She turns his head one way then the other studying him. "Your family – it carries a heavy burden. I will not curse you with more, although I might want to." She pulls back her hand and then slaps him hard. Without waiting, she back hand slaps him on the other side as her eyes flash. "But I do not like bullies, big man. Do not make me regret my concern for your young ones and for the dark burden they carry."

The woman wanders over and takes the paper bag from Sam, hefting it onto a hip. Then she turns back to John. "I will leave you some little thing to remember me by, something that will only cause some slight stinging pain, as long as you take care of it. Something to remind you that you should take care of these fruit of your loins, yes? You see, I mete justice."

As she begins to walk away, she adds one more thing. "You, Hunter, do not look for me or I will forget why I spared you. Go take care of the other boy. The spell on him, it is a temporary thing only."


	9. Chapter 9

Three times during the night Ellen comes in and gently shakes Dean, running through the questions to test that his concussion is not worsening into additional brain trauma. The second time, he shamefacedly asks to be taken into the restroom – his face betraying his painful indignation when she suggests he use the bucket in the enclosure. "I'm not an animal."

Ellen melts at his woebegone face, and she can't help but remember him the first time she saw him – an eight-year-old with freckles and a shy grin, firmly holding his little brother's hand. Damn John Winchester for turning that sweet little boy into this insecure mess with the brittle macho mask.

"Has my dad called?" Dean asks after the third time he's awakened, and he betrays his anxiety by catching the leather thong that holds some kind of charm between his teeth, not quite chewing on it.

Ellen shakes her head. "Not that I know of sweetie. I'll check with Bobby in the morning and let you know, but right now – bar's finally closed and I'm off to bed. Do you need anything? Food? Water?"

"Ah, no, thanks. I'm good. Umm. Really. Thank you." It's both one of the most awkward and most sincere thank yous that Ellen has ever received from a hunter.

Once Ellen has gone to bed, Dean finds he can't get back to sleep. He's worried about Dad, and Sam, and Dad and Sam together, and about himself being useless to them, and not being there to look after them. And, truthfully, he's worried Dad won't come back to get him because he's nothing but a liability now. They've never been allowed to have pets. Being in a cage reinforces the idea that that's all he'd be.

Dean tries to shut all the doubts and worries down, but it's not like he has anything else to do to occupy his mind. Besides it's pretty dark in the room now. He'd exercise just to wear his body out, but even he knows that'd be dumb with a concussion. He gets dressed in as much of his own clothes as he can, weapons and all, and then sits with his knees drawn up chewing on his thumb nail.

The night passes slowly.

Jo comes into the room in the morning, tiptoeing and expecting to find Dean sleeping. She bends to peer into the enclosure to meet his eyes, green and haunted. "Hey, how're you doing?" Jo whispers, and then watches as Dean hides behind his mask.

"I'm fine." Dean's response is completely unbelievable, but Jo – with the sensitivity of a teenager who has her own demons – just nods. Trying to force people to talk never works in her short experience. She nods like she believes this tiny man is "fine."

"Want out of there? I could take you into the kitchen with me? We can get some coffee and something to eat while mom sleeps. I'll lock the cat out." Jo is coaxing Dean into saying yes, and he does. Being confined to the cage is making him feel claustrophobic.

Dean straightens up and waits for her to lower her hand. "Could you take me to see Bobby first?" He closes his eyes and grits his teeth as he gets the flying sensation when she lifts him.

Bobby is awake and making coffee when they find him. "Well, you look better than you did, Boy." He greets the younger hunter as he looks him over. "You look tired though."

Dean stands on the counter and checks the older hunter over too. "Well, I've seen you look better too, Old Man." He forces a grin to take the sting out. "Bobby? Have you heard from my dad?"

"Nothing yet, Dean. But it's early. No telling if they even got past research yesterday." Bobby's matter-of-fact statement helps calm Dean, and it shows. His posture gets less stiff.

"I guess you're right. Just, you know, it's hard when I'm the one shrunk down and stuck somewhere to be kept safe. I – umm – I'm more used to doing the taking care of than being taken care of. And, no offense Jo, but the bright pink furniture? Not my usual style." Dean wanders over to Bobby's toast and breaks off a tiny piece to nibble on. Bobby grunts in amusement.

"Hey, Bobby?" He stops to try again without the quaver in his voice. "I need something to do, man, or I may go a little nuts."

Bobby breaks off a piece of toast and starts chewing, giving himself time to think before he has to answer. He pours himself a cup of coffee, and finds the bottle top they are using for Dean to give him some too. Jo waves off the offer and fixes herself a bowl of cheerios, handing one to Dean without asking.

"Let me think on it, Dean. I think you could use another day of recovery with your concussion and I'm not up to par yet myself. Besides you're kinda small to be hefting around books or answering phones. I'll let you know." Bobby settles down to drink his coffee, trying to ignore how crest fallen Dean looks. Damn, John Winchester anyway. He'd better call soon.

But he doesn't and Bobby watches as Dean grows depressed, and the older hunter wonders if he better that the pistol away from him.

. . . . . . .

Sam has been trying to get his dad to go to Nebraska for two days. The first evening after Dad's encounter with the witch John spent drinking, going through the research, and using the rest room a lot. The next morning, Dad told Sam to stay in the cabin while Dad went to a free clinic four hours away. By the time he got home, he started drinking again and muttering about how much he hated witches. He blew off Sam's concern about the witch completely, and Sam backed down.

Sam checked through Dad's pockets looking for money so he could buy something to eat after John passed out, and he found a pill bottle of doxycycline, too. When he went out, Sam also figured out why Dad told him to stay in.

When Sam went to the Grub Stop diner that Dean had been working in, Dean's friends had come over to ask about his brother, and Sam had told them a family emergency took him away. One of the waitresses, April, lightly touched Sam's bruised cheek. "Not something like this, I hope. I mean, I bet your brother can hold his own, but him not showing up, you bruised?"

The younger Winchester brother flushes and stammers. "My brother didn't hit me."

"I didn't think he did, kid. I've heard your brother talk about you. Just we kind of noticed your father's back, and we didn't figure Dean would just ley you get smacked around." April trails off, a worried look in her eye. "Well, we're worried he's too bad off to come in."

"I tripped and fell." Sam says firmly. The Winchester boys both know to never say anything that might get child protective services involved. "And Dean is in Nebraska right now with my Uncle Bobby."

John gets them both up early the next morning and tells Sam to make sure to pack all his stuff. "It's check out day," John growls the explanation. "And you and I need to get over to where I left my truck. I can't just leave it sitting there. We'll shuttle them over to Nebraska, and then we'll figure out what we're doing from there."

"But, Dad? What about the witch? Shouldn't we stay and hunt her?" Sam wishes he couldn't hear the whine in his own voice.

"She said it's temporary, Sam. So we'll get to the Roadhouse and check on your brother. Hell, he could be cured by now." John sees the stubborn look come on in his son's eyes. "I don't want you with me when I confront her, Sam. Plus, don't you think it's time we checked on Dean?"

The problem starts after John drives them the four hours in the opposite direction of the Roadhouse to the Hunters camp, and he starts drinking and talking to the other guys. Sam's sitting cross-legged on the tail gate of his father's truck, but he's afraid to do anything except give his Dad stink-eyed looks. This will be the third night Dean has been left to cope with the witch's spell around strangers…well, except Bobby. But without his family.

Sam knows his brother well enough to know Dean will think he's been abandoned.


	10. Chapter 10

It's hot and humid in Nebraska in summer that mixed with Sam's nervousness in driving his brother's car on a six hour road trip, are making the teen uncomfortable. The old car's air conditioning needs work, but nothing could stop the heat from the July sun beating through the windshield as Sam follows John's truck through the seemingly flat and empty expanses of the Nebraska roads.

Sam can't really complain though; he's glad he got his dad moving this direction. Dean has been without family for three days, shrunken and vulnerable, and Sam has worried the entire time. This morning, Sam asked Dad how Dean was doing, only to have John tell him he hadn't checked on him at all. "There's no cell phone service out here" was John's excuse. Sam almost cried. Sometimes it seems to him that Dad doesn't get Dean at all. His big brother just doesn't do alone well. Funny though, Dean isn't really an extrovert either. It's not like he wants lots of people around him all the time, Dean just needs his family.

The Impala has an old cassette music system, and almost all the tapes are Dean's old music or metal rock. But for his birthday, Dean had actually bought Sam some cassettes, telling him he could only listen to them when HE was driving. So Sam has a Dave Matthews band tape playing because he's already getting tired of Matchbox 20. It makes Sam smile to remember seeing Dean tapping his fingers along sometimes when he listens.

When John pulls into a truck stop with a diner after about four hours of driving, Sam is happy to get out and stretch. This is the longest amount of time the sixteen year old has ever spent behind the wheel at one time. He doesn't know if he'll ever get used to it, or if he'll ever be able to drive like it's part of his nature, like his big brother.

John and Sam both fill their gas tanks and then park to go inside to the restaurant. Both because breakfast food is cheaper and because their morning meal was a power bar, John and Sam order from that menu. Sam is happily tucking into a stack of blueberry pancakes when John starts writing directions for how to get to the Roadhouse.

"What?" Sam almost chokes, and then clears his throat by gulping down milk. "What do you mean, Dad? Aren't you coming with me? What about Dean?"

"What about Dean? If he isn't better within a week, call me. I'll go hunt the witch, but I don't know what you think I can do, Sam." John forks in his last mouthful of eggs and toast glaring at his son. The look would normally be enough to leave Sam tongue-tied, but not today, not now. Not when his father has already left Dean in a terribly vulnerable condition for three days.

"That sucks!" Sam explodes at his father, his voice rising and attracting attention in the restaurant. "You can't do that! You can't do that to Dean! He needs you…he needs us!"

"You keep your voice down, boy! And mind what you're saying."

"Me! Don't act like I'm the one doing something wrong, Dad. I'm not abandoning my kid. You said family comes first. Dean is family. He looks up to you."

"Your brother is twenty years old. He's not a kid. Besides the lady he's staying with is no friend of mine. Me going could make him be put out. Then where will we go? Huh, smartass?" John stands up and throws a twenty dollar bill on the table. "Have Bobby call me if there's anything I need to do to help."

Then John Winchester stomps out of the diner and heads for his truck. Sam sits back down, not even remembering when he stood up. "Like you'll even answer the phone," he whispers brokenly.

Why couldn't his father see how much him not showing up was going to affect Dean? Sam loves his big brother, but, geez, he gets tired of how Dean hero-worships John Winchester. Sam looks down at his unfinished pancakes and decides he's not really hungry any more. How can he be when he has to go tell Dean Dad's not coming?

. . . . . . . . . . .

Bobby Singer never had a son of his own, was afraid he'd be a bad father, like his dad was. The closest he'd come to even really wanting kids was John Winchester's sons. Today he feels like murdering this boy's father and just flat out adopting him – if twenty's not too old for that kind of thing.

This is day three of John not showing up or even calling to check in, calling to ask how Dean was. The first full day could be put off to hunting. And since he and the boy were both recuperating from injuries, it was easy to understand, he guesses. He, Dean, Ellen, and Jo swapped hunting stories all day. Booby enjoys a good story, tells a good one, but enjoys the heck out of Dean making everything into a comedy.

The boy's philosophy seemed to be, if you lived through it, then you might as well learn to laugh at your mistakes. Even doll size, Dean had a way about him that just made a person feel happier to be alive.

It's pretty obvious that Bill Harvelle's little girl is smitten with the young hunter. Even Ellen couldn't help but smile back.

The second full day, Dean starting pacing like a tiger in a cage. Dean asked Bobby a few times if John had called, if Bobby had heard anything. Dean didn't seem mad when he was told no; he asked for less, ate less, and withdrew inside himself. There were still smiles, but they seem brittle and don't quite include his eyes.

And recovering from a head injury or not, Dean drank himself asleep that night. Bobby's pretty sure the boy had convinced the teenaged girl to bring him some whiskey. He didn't seem to care how dangerous that was with a head injury. Well, Bobby knows that feeling; there's been plenty of nights he'd have done the same.

The tiny doll condition sure made it easier to carry Dean off to his little pink bed. Bobby took off his boots before covering him with the handkerchief and doily. Just to be on the safe side, Bobby took his weapons. Ellen noticed what Bobby's doing as she stood next to him.

"You think that's necessary?"

Bobby gave a big loud sigh. "I sure as hell hope not, Ellen, but he's the kind of kid who really needs family. It's tearing him up that he don't know how they're doing. Kid's always been a worrier."

"Well, he's had more reason than most," Ellen allowed, fastening the lid back on the enclosure to keep the cat out. Lester had been sneaking around the last few days eyeing Dean like a treat. Wouldn't do to let that bastard John Winchester – who couldn't be bothered to be here himself – blame her if something happened to his older son.

Now here it is – third day after they got here – and there's still no word from John. Bobby's damned near in mint condition again, and he's wondering how long he can keep trespassing on Ellen's hospitality. He's pretty sure John has ditched his son – just gonna assume Bobby will take care of him – like he's done before. But Bobby's never seen Dean down this far.

Bobby coaxes Dean to come into the main bar. It's not open and the cat's locked out, so there shouldn't be any problem. He sets Dean on the pool table, expecting that the wide space will help the boy seem less caged. Dean sits on the edge of the table staring out the picture window.

The older man looks him over. Dean's wearing the same clothes he fell asleep in, same clothes he wore yesterday and the day before. His eyes above the slightly coppery peach fuzz on his face are hollow. The older hunter removes the gauze from the small figures head to look at the stitches. "Well, they look good enough. I think it's past time."

Dean stirs, looks over his shoulder at Bobby. "Good enough for what, Bobby. To get out of here? Go hunt the witch down? Find my dad and my brother?"

"Yeah, smart guy, I thought I'd just throw you out the door to fend for yourself." Bobby feels bad as soon as the words escape because there's a flash or fear from Dean, but worse there's something that says he's resigned to it, expected it, deserves it. "Geez, boy, you are breaking my frikkin heart if you think I'd do that to you. I was just thinking your stitches are healed enough that you could get a shower. Get some clean clothes on. What do ya say?"

Dean's struggling to get his emotions under control. He takes in a hiccupping breath. "Whatever you want, Dude. But aren't you a little afraid I'll drown?"

"Yep, thought of that. But…I also figured a way around it. I'm gonna run the sink in here to the right temperature. The sinks deep – it'll be like a shower for you. While you get cleaned up, I'll wash your clothes and get 'em dry. Bet you'll feel better and I know you'll smell better."

Bobby gets the water to the right temperature and goes to gather the scrubs and board shorts. When he comes back, he picks up the rest of the clothes and leaves a dry washcloth as a towel and a small hunk of soap he cut off a bar. Dean had been trying to hide his nakedness by staying at the side of the sink basin while Bobby was there and the stainless steel in making him shiver. Once Bobby leaves, Dean grabs the soap and steps under the running water.

The hot water rushing over him does smooth out some of the knots in his shoulders from tension. Relaxed and thinking no one is around, Dean starts to belt out one of his favorite Lynyrd Skynyrd tunes. When he's done showering, he hefts himself like in a chin up out of the sink and starts toweling dry with the washcloth. The water shuts off, and Dean whirls.

"I didn't know you could sing." Jo says in an innocent voice.

Dean turns beat red and wraps the wash cloth around himself. "How long have you been there?" Dean demands, voice low and gravelly.

Jo smiles crookedly. "Probably too long, but I didn't know what was going on and heard the water running. I didn't mean to spy."

Water is still dripping from his hair and his mouth opens and closes with consternation. He's should have known better, he guesses. He wants to lash out, but she's a kid. A kid who has now seen him naked. He pulls the cloth closer around him. Trying to figure out what to do now.

Ellen comes walking in at the tail end of the conversation. "JoAnna Beth! I need to talk to you right now!" The annoyed mother drags her teen aged daughter away by the elbow, leaving Dean standing there, shivering,

The room is quiet and empty when Dean hears a familiar growl of the Impala's engine, and for a moment, none of it matters. The witch's spell, the indignity of living in a cage, the embarrassment of being spied on in the shower by a little girl – all of it – forgotten in his relief that his family is here and safe, that they hadn't abandoned him.


	11. Chapter 11

After pulling up outside the Roadhouse, Sam parks and climbs out of the big black Chevy, shaking a little from the tension of driving so far on his own. He didn't even have anyone to follow once his dad took off, and it took an hour to get here, worrying the whole time he'd miss a turn-off and get lost. The teen stretches and pulls his sweaty shirt away from his back while he eyes the place.

Not seeing anything that distinguishes a living space from the bar, Sam worries his lower lip because the sign says closed. He wonders if he should drive around back and check to see if Bobby's truck is out there. He's still standing by the car indecisively when a blonde girl near his age comes charging around the side of the building and skids to a halt when she sees him.

"Hey! You must be Sam." The girl calls out. "What're you waiting on? Your brother's in there." She points toward the door. "Wait – I'll come with you. Even if mom says I've been seeing too much of your brother." She giggles. "I'm Jo."

Sam smiles at her shyly, ducking his head and peering at her from the safety of his bangs. "Thanks. I'd appreciate it if you took me to him, and maybe if you'd let Uncle Bobby know I'm here."

Jo opens the door and waves him past. Sam wanders past her, looking all around and not realizing the big yellow cat sidles in through the open door too. The younger Winchester brother blinks a few times letting his eyes adjust to the light in the room after the bright glare of summer sun. The first thing he notices is a brunette woman hurrying into the room.

"Jo! What did I tell you about leaving that…Oh, wait? Who are you?" Ellen asks as she comes up to the pair of teenagers. "No, wait. Don't tell me. I can tell from those eyes. You're little Sammy Winchester!"

Sam stammers out a greeting, and she tells him to just call her Ellen. Their introductions are abruptly interrupted by a yowling cat. The three spin towards the bar. Ellen yells, "Damnit – who let the cat in." While Jo yells "Lester," and all three hurry towards the bar where a bleeding Dean, wearing a washcloth toga, is fending off the big tabby cat with a fork.

Jo makes a swipe at the cat, who tries to run under her hands right at Dean. Dean leaps from the bar counter onto his brother, scrambling up his arm to rest on his shoulder, using Sam's hair to steady himself with one hand and struggling to hold onto his toga with the other. Sam can hear his brother panting and feel his heart pattering.

Ellen and Jo wrangle the cat, and send it back outside right as Bobby walks into the room carrying Dean's clean dried clothes. "What in Hell?" The confused older Hunter asks Sam, who isn't sure he knows what's wrong. "Wait. Sam, why is your brother sitting on your shoulder bleeding – and where's your dad?"

"Dad's not coming." Sam states it bluntly. Under his hat, no one notices that Dean goes as still as stone. "He sent me. Told me to have you call him if you need his help, but we saw the witch. She says the spell on Dean is temporary. So all we can do is wait." The boy is spewing it all out as fast as he can. "I hope…I mean, I'm sorry to just drop in like this. I hope…"

Ellen is looking over the blushing boy, and she has sharp enough eyes to see the dark smudges of bruised cheek. She comes closer and pulls Sam toward her. "You boys are always welcome here. But right now, let's see what damage the cat did to Dean. You can come back with me if you want, Sam, but maybe you and Bobby want to talk. Jo, mind the store."

The lady scoops Dean and his washcloth off Sam's shoulder, cradling him against her, and she grabs the small stack of clothes Bobby set on the counter as she heads back to her room. Dean is flushed when she sets him down near the magnifying glass again. He's still struggling to stay decently covered, and he's bleeding from where the cat's claw scraped his shoulder.

"We need to take better care of you," Ellen clucks as she uses an edge of the washcloth to wipe away the blood. She takes out an iodine swipe and wipes across the cut. "But it looks like you ducked quick enough that this isn't bad." Ellen opens a band aid and attaches it over the wound."

"Nothing a band aid won't fix." Dean quips. "A scratch, just a scratch."

The older woman snorts. "Well – that's a size thing. Speaking of which – or maybe that's a bad transition – I want to apologize for earlier."

Dean looks at her blankly for a minute, then he remembers and she watches as a red blush spreads across his face and neck. She shakes her head. Ellen had never met his mother, but John had told her that's where Dean got his coloring. Sam is swarthier, like his father. All three of the Winchesters have too much sex appeal and good looks, but this one – he has an unfair amount. Ellen vows she's going to do her best to keep him away from her daughter. She doesn't want Jo tangled up with a hunter.

Which reminds Ellen – she better go make sure Sam and Jo aren't getting too friendly. She decides one more thing too, and decides it's only fair to let this one know first. "Dean, kiddo. Nothing here that's happened now and nothing in the past is your fault. And I'm not mad at any one. But I'm going out there to talk to Bobby about packing you all up. I think it's time he went home – and I think he should take you both with him."

Dean struggles to stand and hang onto his washcloth. His face is solemn. "I appreciate everything you've done, Ellen. And I'm sorry…"

"None of that. Not your fault." She cuts him off. "He doesn't have a cat." She offers as explanation. "You hurry and get dressed. I'll keep Jo out and send the guys back." Ellen studies him for a moment. "You take care and call us to let us know how you're doing, alright?" She leaves as soon as Dean agrees.

Bobby figures out what Ellen is going to say before she says anything. As soon as the woman comes back into the bar where Sam is finishing up explaining how the witch had found them, and what the witch said, Bobby asks her if she'd be okay with them taking off soon. It's a four hour drive to Sioux Falls and he's got a business to check on. "So, if Dean's okay to travel, I'll just get the three of us out of your hair. I'll leave my truck here and get it later. We'll drive home in the Impala."

Ellen looks Bobby in the eye. "I think you and I both know the cat scratch was the least of the hurts he just took."

It's Sam's turn to flush. "I tried to get Dad to come. To check on Dean, but he wouldn't."

Ellen pats him on the shoulder kindly. "No one is blaming you, Sam. But your brother has been fretting and worrying about you both. So head down that way, second door on the left, and see him. Make sure you close the door behind you too. Damn cat's sneaky."

The two adults watch as Sam lopes off. When the door closes again, Ellen lifts a questioning eyebrow at Bobby.

"Yeah, John Winchester is a stubborn prick." Bobby grunts out. "But his boys, well, they're pretty special to me." Ellen nods, she's known Bobby a long time, and if she hadn't already guessed by how much he talks about them, the last three days were enough to show her that Bobby had adopted the Winchester boys in his heart.

"Go get your stuff, Old Man." Ellen gives him a little push, and then pulls him in for a big hug. "I'm going to go fix some take out for your dinner tonight. Bet you've got nothing left at home to eat worth keeping."

Bobby gives her a lop-sided grin. "I ain't got much in my life worth keeping, but you and your little girl, and those two boys."

In the bedroom, Sam had entered to see his brother twisting around trying to get his shirt over his head, but having trouble with his new bandage. Sam sets to work helping. "Thanks, Dude." Dean says when he finishes, winded from the struggle. He sits down to pull his boots on. Dean glances up at his brother, "So tell me word for word what the witch said."

Dean listens and nods his head. "Well, then, Dad's right. You and me'll go with Bobby, and Dad can go back to saving people. I'll be okay soon enough and we can hook back up with him." Dean watches Sam's face, seeing the storm clouds gathering. "Or we could see if Bobby'll let us stay a little longer. When I get full sized again, I can do some work for him to make up for it."

"Dean, why do you make excuses for him?" Sam huffs out in exasperation.

"For Dad?" Dean asks, and Sam is astounded to see that Dean means it.

"Yeah, for Dad. We shouldn't have dumped you on Bobby. We should have been here sooner. Dad should be here now." Sam starts a litany of complaints.

"You really want him here?" Dean jibes.

Sam snorts again. "No. But that doesn't mean he shouldn't be here."

Dean smiles at his little brother. "It's okay, Sammy. Dad's right. We've got each other, and …" He shrugs. "Well, I'm kind of a liability at the moment. Shit, I just almost lost a fight to a housecat. Best thing I can do to help Dad is stay out of his way until the spell wears off."

Sam shakes his head. It's hard to put it into words, especially when he doesn't want to hurt his brother, but it really does not seem like normal behavior for a father to him. He shrugs finally.

"Umm, little brother, do you see the carrier around? If you could help me get my stuff in it, we could get going. Probably the sooner the better."

The younger brother looks around the room, and gets distracted by the enclosure. He starts laughing so hard tears leak from his eyes and he has to sit down on the chair next to his brother. "Pink furniture?" He gasps.

"Shuttup."

"Should we borrow it?"

"Let's not." Dean huffs out and whacks his brother on the earlobe.

Sam jumps, startled. "Oww, Jerk"

"Bitch." 


	12. Chapter 12

The closest thing to home the Winchester boys have had, besides the Impala, is their bedroom at Bobby's. Over the years – of visiting and of being dumped there – the single beds with their worn but clean linens, the kitchen-slash-workroom, and the living room-slash-library, set in the middle of heaps of rusty cars and a working man's garage and warded against everything Bobby knew how to ward against, became the one stationary place the boys could be themselves.

Dean starts to feel a little better there, more like himself. Part of his relief is that Dean slept in his own bed last night. His small body barely made an indent in the pillow, but it was his bed, and that made a world of difference. Bobby and Sam didn't bring the cage with them, and that makes them all feel better, even if Dean has had to put up with some teasing. Sammy will pay for calling him "catnip" when Dean gets his size back. And fortunately Rumsfeld the Rottweiler keeps stray cats at bay.

Dean and Sam have come up with a mode of transportation where Sam lets his big brother perch on his shoulder. Sam's too long hair gives Dean handles, and sitting by his ear means Dean doesn't have to yell to be heard. Dean doesn't feel trapped this way like he does when someone holds him in fist. The shoulder is like riding a really tall horse. Forget about Bobby's Jiminy Cricket and little angel/devil remarks. It's working for them.

Bobby even let Dean perch on his shoulder for the ride to the garage. Dean thinks his beard is pretty wiry though, harder on the hands than Sam's mane. Without a cage and with his brother there, Dean doesn't feel as desperate. Bobby relaxes his vigilance a little. The three guys fall into an old pattern the first full day. Sam helps in the house's library researching hunts and answering the phones, Bobby works on cars and takes towing jobs. Dean helps Bobby with cars, just electrical systems right now – finding his small size beneficial for tracing wiring and finding where they're worn.

They don't talk about John until dinner. "So, gonna call your dad tonight." Bobby spills the idea out over a meal of hotdogs and mac and cheese which Sam cuts some into small pieces and moves them to the edge of the plate where Dean is sitting cross-legged. Sam has been ribbing him about eating with his hands, so Dean has been even sloppier than usual. The friendly banter between the brothers as they share a plate stops.

Dean looks at Sam, reading his expression, before turning toward Bobby. "Are you, umm, calling him to come get us? Or to check in? Cause, Bobby, Dad doesn't do just checking in real well."

"Understatement." Sam mutters, and Dean shoots him a quelling look. But it doesn't work. Sam's not actually feeling intimidated by Dean right now, and he long ago decided Dean was never going to stand up for himself against the great John Winchester. "Dad doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do, and right now me and Dean aren't assets. He said to call when Dean's restored, or if it doesn't happen in a week."

"Just thought I'd tell him where we are. Tomorrow will be a week. If you ain't proper-sized by the end of it, I figured we'd head back over that way and find the damned witch ourselves. Thought maybe your dad'd want to meet us there if we go." Bobby keeps eating, trying to keep things nonchalant.

"Bet he doesn't," Sam mutters at the same time Dean says "Good plan." Dean glares at Sam, who shrugs.

As much as Dean doesn't want to let on how upset he really is, now that Bobby has brought up Dad, Dean stands up and wanders away from the plate. He wipes at his messy face with his sleeve, but Sam dunks part of a paper napkin into his water glass and reaches over to wash his brother's face.

"Hey!" Dean sputters. "Damnit, Sam, that's cold!"

"Huh, imagine that," Sam smirks at his older brother. "Bet I said that a million times when you did it to me."

"That's different!" Dean yells. "You were little. I was taking care of you."

The words spill out like lead pellets as Dean realizes what he just said and how it applies differently now. Bobby holds his breath, waiting to see what Dean will do as emotions roll across the toy-sized older brother's face. But Sam, he doesn't see because he's already laughing. "Yeah, well, looks like I'm the one stuck taking care of a little brother right now!"

Dean's quick. And he scampers out the open window next to the table onto the porch before Bobby can catch him, and before Sam realizes he's the only one laughing. "Damn idgit." Bobby growls.

"What? What did I do?" Sam's young, but he's smart. He jumps up from the table when he realizes how his macho big brother took what he said. "I'll go find him, Bobby. You're right, I'm an idiot some times." And the younger boy is out the door to begin searching for his brother.

Sam's been taught tracking so he goes to check under the window first. Scuff marks show where Dean used a telephone line to climb down from the window sill. Sam looks around the porch where things including an old sink are stacked haphazardly. There's a hundred places Dean could be hiding, and as many things that could hurt him when he's tiny.

"What, Dean, too soon? Can't take a joke?" Sam is on all fours looking to see if he can find tracks. He's pretty sure if he can piss his brother off, Dean will move and give away his position. "Your little feelings get hurt? Cause usually my big brother doesn't run away. Oww!"

Something stings Sam's butt and he whirls around to find a rubber band on the ground. He rubs at the sting and glares toward where he thinks his brother must be and brings himself to a crouch. Sam stalks closer to where he thinks his brother is hiding and lifts an old suitcase. But Dean's not there. Sam bends down to look between two boxes when he gets hit with two more rubber bands in quick succession.

"Damnit, Dean!" Sam yells, but then he can't hear anything except Bobby guffawing so loudly from where he's been watching out the window. "Truce, okay? I'm sorry, you jerk. What do you want me to say?"

Dean swaggers out from behind an old typewriter sitting on a dusty desk on the front porch. He looks camouflaged with the amount of dirt and dust he has managed to climb through. He still has two rubber bands slung around his chest like bandoliers. "Oh, don't be a whiny bitch, Sammy. I'm right here."

Bobby ducks away from the window to let the boys make up without him, but he's still chuckling. It's simple times like these that he loves spending with them, but that just reminds him he needs to call their dad, who seems to be gone more often than not any more. Of course, Bobby gets John's voicemail when he calls. The exasperated older man leaves a terse message. Bobby straightens up the kitchen from dinner and makes a bowl of popcorn.

When he finishes, Bobby wanders into the living room where Sam is sprawled on the couch watching a reality cop show on television. Dean is perched on the back of the couch with his arms crossed.

"What are we watching?" Bobby's surprise comes through in the question.

"Cops." The smirk is evident in Sam's voice.

"Ain't your usual thing and I thought your brother hated cop shows."

"Really?" Sam feigns innocence while Dean huffs. "Maybe Catnip should change the channel." Dean rolls his eyes; it's pretty apparent to all of them that Sam's just being a brat, but since Dean actually likes this reality show he's just letting Sam think he won.

"You know who loves catnip, right, little brother? Not exactly insulting." Dean turns toward Bobby. "What did dad say?" Dean ventures.

"Left a message." Bobby says tersely. Neither brother says anything, knowing it'll just lead to another argument. Bobby settles at the other end of the couch and waits for the half-hour show to end.

"For the record, you boys are welcome here any time and in any condition. But Dean, I think we need to get you back to size for your own good – and for Sam's sake. So let's go ahead and make a plan for confronting the witch."

Bobby's library has a ton of information about witches, but Bobby warns them most of what's been written is complete nonsense. "It's a term people use – no, mostly men use - for a woman who practices magic." Bobby explains. "So if you get right to it, when we do counter spells or make magical instruments, we're every bit as likely to be classified as witches too."

Dean snorts. "C'mon Bobby. There's a difference. We don't go messing with magic to get power. We don't cast spells on innocent people."

"And most witches don't either, Boy. You gotta learn that not everything different is a monster. You can't just run around killing everything supernatural. Yeah, there's witches who kill and do evil black magic rites, but there's plenty who heal and cast spells to bring balance back when something else throws things out of kilter." Bobby is lecturing, and Sam is listening carefully. He knows he believes what the other hunter is saying. A couple of years ago he helped a Kitsune who saved his life escape from his father and brother. But one look at his brother's scowl shows him that Dean doesn't agree.

Bobby is gathering ingredients for scrying to find the witch's whereabouts: a polished silver bowl, herbs, spring water, and a tiny drop of Dean's blood to trace the spell. "This, what we're doing right here, would have gotten us killed in earlier times. They'd have called us witches." Bobby finishes with the ingredients and chants before blowing softly across the water. The three gather around the bowl waiting for the ripples to still.

The water turns black, then reflective like a mirror, before clearing, and it's almost like a television. Bobby and the boys watch as the witch moves around a kitchen before turning toward the stove with a puzzled look on her face. She gazes into a pot of water, her eyes meeting Bobby's. "Bobby Singer! You could have used the phone if you wanted to talk to me." The witch's voice is still accented, but the warmth of her greeting is unmistakable. She looks at the boys. "Did my doll and his little brother come to you for help? Where is the father?"

Dean and Sam turn puzzled looks toward their mentor. Bobby clears his throat. "Roxanne." It's a greeting as well as the beginnings of an explanation to the boys. He looks at them, face ruddy, "She taught me a lot about spell craft when I first started hunting."

The witch's face lights with amusement. "Bobby? Who are these boys to you? Why do they look so at home there?" She asks. "But it is good to see my little doll is well, and to see that the marks their father's hand left on the younger one's face have faded." Dean's eyes fly up to Sam's face, but there are no traces he can find. Dean's mouth sets and there's a tick along his jawline. Sam shrugs.

The older hunter sighs. When and where to look for help is one of the areas that he and John Winchester differ, like they do about what makes something a monster, but not as much as they have about how John treats the boys. "Well, Roxie, these two, Sam and your little doll, Dean, are still being taught by their father, but they're almost like my own. They're young. I'll get the rough spots knocked off'em yet because – yeah – they're like family to me."

"Hey!" Dean objects. "Enough with the little doll thing." But Bobby holds his hand up for quiet.

Roxanne looks sad. "Bobby – these boys – your boys - they have a destiny. Dark things are ahead. Things I cannot change or I would. Even when I cast my spell on the older one, Dean, I tried to help. He will carry a heavy burden and must learn to accept assistance. He cannot do it alone."

"About that…" Bobby starts. Roxanne cuts him off. "It was temporary to begin with Bobby. Let him sleep one more time needing to be safeguarded, and when he wakes he will be as he was, but I hope wiser." She teases. "And maybe a little better at controlling his tongue."

Bobby snorts at the witch. "You doing miracles now?"

The witch gives a soft sigh as her finger reaches to stir the water and break the connection. "Perhaps one day you will bring them to me in person, and we will talk again. But Bobby, you know how to reach me if you need my help. Goodbye for now. Take care of each other."

"Frikkin witches," mutters Dean, and he kicks the side of the bowl. "Give me the creeps." Sam has found the conversation fascinating, and Bobby sees the curiosity in the teen's eyes. His brother sees it too. "Don't be getting ideas, Sammy. We hunt things – just like Dad taught us. But, yeah, even Dad uses psychics sometimes. So I guess it's like sometimes you need to find one who can help – but don't be getting ideas."

Bobby smiles. Despite himself, it seems like Dean has learned something from this past week. "Well, Roxanne seems to think you'll be back to usual in the morning. That's something." Bobby stands up and starts putting away his spell ingredients.

Sam gets a sly look on his face. "Hey, Bobby. I got this bowl. It looks like we could do double duty with it."

It's Bobby's turn to look puzzled, but Dean gets a panicked look on his face as his brother scoops him up and lets him fall into the bowl. "Dean got pretty dirty today." Sam grins as his brother stands back up. Sopping wet and sputtering.

"You wait, Bitch. Pay back will be sweet." His shivering older brother chatters. And Bobby fishes him out of the water and tosses him a dish towel to dry off. "You two idgits will be the death of me."

The idea of sleeping that night is as difficult for all three as it is for children the night before a Disneyland adventure. But eventually, several whiskeys assisting, Bobby wanders upstairs to his room, and Sam lets Dean ride on his shoulder for what should be the last time. As Sam strips down for bed, he notices his brother dressing, boots, jeans, guns and knives. "Dean? What are you doing?" The teen asks puzzled.

"Gotta get my stuff all back to size, too, Sam." Dean grunts before stretching out on the pillow. As Dean lies on the pillow, he thinks back over the week, filing away some things as lessons learned. Maybe sometimes it's okay to ask Bobby for help, and he's pretty sure he has made a real friend of Ellen, even if her daughters crush makes it a little bit awkward. And, maybe, just maybe, he should do a little more research – ask questions first – before assuming that everything he meets with supernatural power should be shot.

In the meantime, as Dean waits for the spell to reverse, he has things to plan. Where he and his brother should go so they don't wear out their welcome at Bobby's after a few days is one. Plus, he needs payback against Sam – not just for laughing at him, dunking him, and calling him catnip, but for hiding what must have gone on between his younger brother and his dad. Maybe some bleach in his shampoo?

Nothing too bad though. Dean will just be glad to be able to do the one thing he knows he does right. Take care of his little brother.


End file.
